


Sanctuary

by bongbingbong



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Autistic Character, Elim Garak Cares Too Much, Gen, Hostage Situation, Plasma phasers, forced/arranged marriage, meltdowns, phaser injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24463246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/pseuds/bongbingbong
Summary: The after-hours arts club on DS9 is meant to be a safe spot for the oddballs and the misfits on the station. So what happens when the place gets held hostage?
Comments: 27
Kudos: 30
Collections: Deep Space Discord Literary Universe





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly I just wanted to write something dark for DSD again. It's fun. In this house we love being SAD (so long as everyone's happy again by the end)

The all ages arts club on Deep Space Nine was by no means a central hub of activity. When Robertson and Irena had started it, they hadn’t expected much really - just a place for the handful of people who wanted to share their writing and their drawing, and whatever else it was that they were working on, to go and do exactly that. A bunch of Keiko and Robertson’s students tended to come quite regularly, for a lack of other things to entertain them on the station. That was to be expected. What they hadn’t expected though, was for it to become a secret hub for the oddballs, the misfits around the station who didn’t seem to have a place to fit into, but could find a home among others who would take the time to listen to their stories.

All of the desks in the schoolroom had been pushed together in two groups - one for the artists, and one for the writers. Manning the art desk today was Irena - on an evening off from the Holodeck, and Ari, who had the communal box of scrap fabrics out and was making some little animal dolls. Gann - one of Robertson’s usual students, a Tellarite boy, was having a great time adding little features like eyes and ears and tails.

With them was Susan and Oo’loo, who were working on some more scenic paintings. Oo’loo was a Glore, a species of gelatinous beings resembling a rather firm mound of moveable, pale green putty. She was stationed here as part of a study of bipedal cultures, but people on the station generally avoided her, most of them finding talking to a giant green blob intimidating. That, and she mostly communicated through a type of sign language specific to their species, signs that few save people like Susan and Robertson were interested in learning. She was an enthusiastic finger painter though, twisting her mass into stumpy appendages that she used to smear and blend paints into the multicoloured landscapes of her home planet.

On the other side of the room, the writer’s group was currently listening to Venrer read some of his work. He was a nervous Benzite who would spend weeks crafting poetry that somehow managed to convey aeons of hurt, and loss, and fear in only a few lines. Every month or so he would bring in a new work to read out, and inevitably he would despair of it immediately after, leaving the rest of the group to assure him that his work really was quite extraordinary. Next to him sat Jake and Nog - Jake holding a PADD in his hands that suggested he had finished a new story for today too. Next to them was little Panyi - a Bajoran boy who was a touch young perhaps for the writer’s group, but made up for it in enthusiasm. He liked to draw little illustrations of what he thought everybody’s pieces were about, which the rest of the group adored. Robertson sat on the desk, watching them all. They hadn’t had time to prepare anything of their own for today, but that didn’t matter. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Venrer, once he had finished his reading.

“Venrer,” began Jake, but the Benzite held up a hand.

“No no,” he said, “there’s no reason for you to tell me what I already know - it needs work. I think I need to pare down some of this description here, it’s perhaps a little wordy-”

“Venrer, I loved it,” said Jake, ignoring him and pressing on, “really, it made me want to cry.”

“Was there a specific part that made you feel like that?” said Robertson. Jake gave them a look that said “we’re off the clock right now, Mx. Teacher,” but gave it some thought anyway.

“I think it was… in the simplicity of the part where you described yourself walking away from home. It was really… stark. Lonely.”

Venrer put his hand to his mouth to conceal his delight, a sign of politeness, and sat down. Beside him, Avie had a small smile on her face.

Avie was an enigma in the group. Even her race - a humanoid people with greyish, semi-translucent skin - was a mystery. At least it had been, until Jake and Nog had tracked it down to a secluded planet by the name of Veldor. She never missed a single meeting, and always arrived slightly ahead of time. She would take up a seat in either the art or the writing section - she didn’t seem to have a preference. She would perch on her chair, her back perfectly straight, her hands folded in her lap. She would very occasionally smile or frown at whatever was going on - but that was it. She never brought anything to share, and she never spoke.

Panyi had his hand up.

“Panyi, you don’t have to do that here, we’re not in school,” said Robertson kindly, “but what would you like to say?”

“I wrote a story!” he said, holding up a PADD of his own, “can I read it? Please?”

Robertson nodded. Panyi hesitated.

“Can you all tell me what to fix afterwards too?” he said, “it’s a present.”

“A present for who?” said Robertson.

“A present for Mister Garak at the clothes shop!” replied Panyi.

He turned the screen on his PADD on, and began to read.

“It was winter and Garak the flying lizard was flying over the desert. Suddenly, a big dragon flew up. 

“Hey, you can’t go here, you’re just a lizard!” said the big dragon, whose name was Ted.

“Eek!” said Garak. He flapped his wings and flew around the dragon.

Garak was flying the fastest so he flew away from the dragon. Then he asked his friend to help save him from the dragon, and the friend said yeah I can help with that so the two of them got their swords out and they ran back outside to the dragon and he said...”

Jake caught Robertson’s eye, and the two of them smiled.

*

After what turned out to be quite the gruelling session of helping Panyi “fix up” his story for Garak, they were done for the evening. Jake left his PADD with Robertson for some feedback anyway, and he and Nog headed back to their quarters for the night. The rest of the crew were slowly filtering out, leaving Robertson, Irena, and Susan behind. And Avie, who seemed to be lingering.

“Did you have a good time today?” said Robertson, keeping their voice light. They didn’t expect an answer, but they figured it couldn’t hurt. As expected, Avie didn’t even look their way.

“I really liked that story Panyi brought us, hopefully Garak agrees to come along for the next session, I think he’ll get a kick out of hearing about himself as a flying lizard.”

Still nothing.

“Rob, could you give me a hand with packing this stuff away?” called Irena from the other side of the room. Robertson waved at Avie and went over to her, although really the table was almost empty already.

“What can I do?” said Robertson, taking the single bottle of paint Irena handed them.

“When you started talking to her, she was terrified,” whispered the half Betazoid, indicating Avie with her eyes, “I thought it would be better if I just got you away.”

Robertson’s brow furrowed in worry.

“Do you know if she’s felt like this before?” they said.

“All the time, really,” said Irena, “not very intense like just now, but usually their baseline is some sort of fear or discomfort. I thought perhaps she’s just very shy. You know, afraid of people,” she paused, considering that for a moment.

“It doesn’t quite make sense, does it?” she said finally.

“No,” said Robertson, “it doesn’t. And that gives me a bad feeling.”

*

“I’m sorry Mx. Robertson, but I really can’t do very much for you based off a hunch,” said Odo. He stood loosely at attention in his office, while Robertson sat on his desk.

“I know that Odo, but I just - there’s a feeling about all of this just isn’t right.”

“I need proof before I can look into… whatever “this” is. Surely you can see that,” said Odo.

“I know! I know. Look, can you just… keep an eye out even? Just make sure it’s something that’s within your awareness?” they said, their eyes pleading. Odo sighed.

“What is it that makes you so sure this… Avie is in trouble, anyway? From the sounds of it she might just be a very shy member of your group.”

“That’s what I thought too,” they replied, “but the thing is - she doesn’t seem to care whether she’s with the people who are painting, or sewing, or… or writing. None of it seems to matter, it’s just that it seems like she wants to be there. Around other people, you know?”

“I think you’ve got your answer then,” said Odo, though his expression was kind.

“You’ll still keep an eye out?” said Robertson, sliding off the table.

“I don’t know that I’ll have anything to keep an eye out  _ for _ , but I promise I will keep the situation in mind.”

“Thank you,” said Robertson, clasping his hand warmly.

“Please let me go,” replied Odo.

*

Garak was nervous. Even if Irena hadn’t been half-Betazoid, she would have been able to tell. He kept rubbing his hands together and adjusting his clothing as they made their way to the schoolroom. 

“Relax, Garak. Panyi is the only Bajoran who even comes to these things, and he adores you.”

“For some reason I can’t fathom,” groused Garak, “I regret ever speaking to the child, he won’t give me a moment’s peace in my shop anymore.”

“Perhaps you should stop cutting him pieces of your expensive fabrics to play with then,” said Irena, completely devoid of sympathy. She did, however, allow him to linger in the doorway and take a deep breath before going in. She didn’t say anything, but put her hand lightly on his arm, steering him inside.

The regulars were all already there tonight - the writers were all seated, and the art crowd was pulling more bits and pieces and half-finished projects out of the box of offcuts that he secretly kept topped up. There was something terribly endearing that he would never say out loud about the little creatures, hand sewn with wonky stitches and mismatched button eyes.

Robertson was, as usual, perched on their desk, surrounded by people he recognised to varying degrees - Jake and Nog he knew of course, and little Panyi, who had invited him. A Benzite he had seen around the station. 

There was, however, a very odd young woman he had never seen before. She sat stock still, her hands in he lap, staring straight ahead. Her face was a blank mask, but even from where he was, he could tell that she radiated discomfort. Garak made sure to sit as far away from her as possible.

“Garak!” said Robertson, hopping off the desk, “how wonderful of you to join us! Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Do you want some tea?” 

They had in fact brought the teapot along just for him, knowing he might want something to do with his hands. Garak accepted the mug gratefully and Irena patted him on the shoulder, wandering off to see how Susan and Ari were going. 

“Hello Garak,” said Jake, giving him a little wave. Garak raised his mug and inclined his head politely.

“My name is Venrer,” said the Benzite, covering his mouth with his hand. Garak greeted him too, in the same manner.

Panyi was currently in danger of falling out of his seat from how much he was bouncing up and down. He had his PADD clutched to his chest, and a huge grin on his face.

“Now, who should go first?” said Robertson, making a big show of tapping their chin and thinking hard, “Jake, you didn’t get to go last time, maybe you should?”

Panyi let out a tiny whimper.

“Oh, I don’t know Mx. Robertson,” said Jake, taking up their teasing, “I’m feeling a little bit nervous right now. I’d feel better if somebody else went first.”

“Hmm, okay then,” said Robertson, “who should we get? Who’s got something special enough for us to share as our first story?”

Panyi sucked in a big breath and sat up as high as he could go, torn between his desire to read out his writing and his determination to show how polite he could be in front of Mister Garak.

“Oh, Panyi?” said Robertson, finally putting him out of his misery, “do you have something to share?”

“Yes!” gasped the child, “I have my story!”

“Your story about the lizard? Well, that’s certainly a very special story. Yes, I think it will be great for you to go first. Come stand over here, so you can read it out properly, and I’ll go and sit down, hmm?” they said, indicating for him to stand in their usual spot at the ‘head’ of the group. Panyi rushed over and stood proudly, holding his PADD out in front of him.

“This is a story written for Mister Garak, who has been very nice to me,” said Panyi, reading out the introduction they had helped him write last week. He looked up and grinned at Garak, who answered the smile with one of his own.

“Garak the flying lizard, by Eldor Panyi. Garak the flying lizard was flying over the desert one day. He had big wings, and liked flying a lot. Normally when he flew, it was a lot of fun, and he liked to do tricks.

One day, suddenly, a big dragon-”

“Avie-Nesa, show yourself!” boomed a voice from the doorway, cutting him off. All heads turned to look at who had shouted, and Garak stood up immediately, his hands tingling with the sensation of a threat.

Five uniformed men had walked into the room, their grey, semi-translucent skin marking them as the same race as Avie. Veldorians? The woman in question bolted straight up, scrambling past desks and chairs to get to the back of the room.

“Robertson to security, we have a situation in the schoolroom,” said Robertson as quietly as possible. They clicked their fingers at the rest of the writer’s group, and pointed at the back wall where Avie cowered, terrified. The group obeyed, Jake grabbing Panyi on his way.

Two of the uniforms were covering the door, leaving the other three to advance on the room. One of the men, the one in the middle, was dressed a little differently to the others. He still had the blue, high-necked uniform - neatly pressed, with no crease out of place. But his uniform sported intricate decorations along the shoulders, metallic leaf designs that intertwined and spread in a winding stripe down each arm. He wore a matching hat with a shiny black brim. He just looked… richer. More polished. And very, very, angry.

“Avie-Nesa!” he shouted again - his voice was loud and booming and seemed to rattle the walls. His icy blue eyes narrowed, and he advanced on the back of the room. 

Robertson moved to intercept him, but Garak got there first.

“Gentlemen!” he said pleasantly, his best shopkeeper smile plastered on his face. He spread his hands, palms upwards, in a gesture of peace. 

The man drew a weapon.

“Out of the way,” he commanded. Garak didn’t move.

“Now really, is that the way you want to do things? It sounds like we might just have a little misunderstanding here, that’s all. If you’d just allow me to-” Garak shifted, about to move closer, but the man pressed something on the side of his weapon and it emitted a shrill whine. It was armed. Behind him, Garak could feel Robertson tense.

The room had gone silent save the whirr of the weapon, some sort of plasma phaser. Everyone had frozen in position, barely daring to breathe for fear of gaining the attention of the weapon that was currently trained at Garak’s chest. It was oddly surreal, these men in their uniforms striding into their little schoolroom. They didn’t belong here. This was supposed to be a place of safety.

“Tell us what you want,” said Garak, his tone suddenly steely.

“We want her,” said the man, jerking his chin towards the back of the room. There was only one person he could mean.

“Why?” Garak was stalling for time. If Robertson could see that, surely these men, whoever they were, would be able to as well.

“She’s my wife.”

“That’s not true!” shouted Avie from the back of the room. Robertson looked around in surprise - they had never heard her speak.

“It won’t stay that way for much longer though, will it?” growled the man.

“If I may,” said Garak, “it sounds like she’s not interested.”

When the man fired on Garak, it seemed like a trick. Like some sort of a joke, a faked scene that couldn’t possibly have a place in reality. Not here. Not right now. Irena’s scream was oddly disjointed, like it was being heard through water. The next five seconds happened all at once, crushed into the blurred screech of one terrible moment. Garak crumpled back into Robertson, who caught him and helped him sink to the ground. The fabric on the left side of his chest and shoulder had been burned away, leaving a disturbingly large patch of charred flesh. Robertson knelt by him, their hands hovering, shaking, unable to think of what to do.

Footsteps on metal grating. Many of them. Thunder on its way in. Security.

“Halt! Stop what you’re doing!” shouted Odo from outside the open door. He was flanked by Major Kira and Bond. The intruder hissed in anger and advanced on Irena, holding his phaser aimed directly at her head.

“Don’t move, or this one’s next,” he called. Irena’s eyes were wide and watery as she stood her ground.

On the ground, Garak’s features were contorted in pain, his breath coming in short pants.

“Robertson! What’s going on in there!” shouted Kira.

“There are five of them, Garak’s been shot, he’s - I think he’s pretty badly hurt,”

“Not fatally my dear, never you worry,” gasped Garak from between gritted teeth.

“What do they want?” Kira’s voice was level, carefully controlled. It did a little to bring Robertson back from the edge of hysteria that had started to creep in. The man swung his phaser around to point at them instead, and they shut their eyes in response, trembling uncontrollably. Somewhere in all this, Garak’s rough, scaled palm found their hand and squeezed.

“Constable Odo, that thing I told you to keep an eye out for? I think it’s happening,” they replied. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our dear arts club members make do with what they've got. Everyone has an idea for how to fix this, with varying degrees of bonkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has definitely gotten away from me - I thought this was going to be an easy 3000-word short.  
> *Grandpa Joe Voice* loOK at ME

“How did you manage to turn your monitor language into Klingon?”

Savannah was pressing buttons on the main console in the infirmary, a handheld script translator in one hand. Julian hovered sheepishly behind her.

“Lucky move, I guess?” he said. 

Savannah rolled her eyes, though not without some amusement. Julian may have been a medical genius, but he was absolutely hopeless when it came to working with computers. It was like he was allergic to them. Or they to him.

“Okay, let’s see if we can-” Savannah trailed off, pressing the final button twice, and sighing in satisfaction as the display turned back into Federation Standard.

“Thank you!” said Julian, giving Savannah’s shoulder a quick squeeze, “you’re a life saver!”

_Doctor Bashir to the Schoolroom._

Savannah and Julian shared a confused look.

 _Emergency, Doctor Bashir to the Schoolroom_.

“That’s the arts club,” said Savannah, thinking aloud, “what could they possibly have done to themselves at the arts club? I bet Susan’s spilled her coffee and burned her leg or something.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” said Julian, grabbing his medkit. The two of them hurried out the door.

*

Robertson was currently trying very hard to keep track of several things at the same time. The children had all been ushered to the back of the room, where Ari and Susan could keep an eye on them. Their silence and stillness was deeply disturbing to her, and only served to heighten the anxiety churning through the room right now. Even Panyi knew to keep his mouth shut - being Bajoran, the reaction would have been a learned one. The guilt of that realisation was crushing - his parents had hoped that he would now grow up without reminders of the kind of violence and fear that could silence a happy child. He was currently seated on Oo’loo, who was doing her best to distract him by rocking back and forth. 

Another thing was Garak. They didn’t want to move him - they would struggle to do so in the first place, and there was no saying how he’d react to being jostled. His breathing was shallow, and he had started to shiver as shock was starting to set in. Robertson and Irena were currently crouched at his side, arms full of whatever clothing the rest of the room could spare to keep him warm and comfortable. 

“I’m going to lift your head up, okay?” said Irena, and slid Jake Sisko’s rolled up vest under his head as a cushion. Garak’s breath hitched as movement pulled the skin around his wound. Irena flinched, but said nothing - Garak being injured was clearly bothering her a great deal. 

Robertson busied themself by spreading the rest of the cardigans, jackets, and their own soft sweater over him. It was hard to work with four strange, uniformed men pointing phasers at them. Their heart hadn’t stopped racing yet.

Over near the door, the person responsible for all of this - a man who had revealed his name was Prasm, apparently a well-known dignitary on Veldor - was arguing with Odo.

“What I’m _trying_ to say is that if you step away from this door and let us pass, nobody else needs to be hurt. This should have been a very simple operation,” he said. It was like the man was completely incapable of keeping his voice down - every word he said came out like a shout, a demand, a verbal act of aggression. Robertson pushed their reaction down, like they had been doing with every other emotion that had crossed their mind since this all started. They couldn’t melt down right now - they had to reach for numbness instead.

“If it was meant to be a ‘simple operation,’ maybe you shouldn’t have brought the whole fuckin’ cavalry, guns and all,” said Bond, though there was no humour in the remark. Odo put a hand up, indicating for her to stop.

“You’ll find that I’m well within my rights as a Veldorian to come and claim a Spousal Property. Standing in my way is a direct violation of your Federation policies regarding the customs of non-Federation species. Stand _down._ ”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir,” said Odo, his voice rougher than usual, “You’ve come in here with the intent to intimidate, and you’ve shot a civilian. It seems we’re at something of a standoff here, unless you’re willing to negotiate a-”

“There will be no negotiations!” shouted Prasm, “ _nothing_ will come out of this except myself, my colleagues, and my wife.”

Irena flinched once more at this, and Garak raised a hand to grasp weakly at her sleeve.

“You should move away,” he said, the words coming out in a painful grind, “put some distance between yourself and-” the words caught as a spasm of pain lanced through his chest, and his eyes screwed shut in response. At the same time, Irena clutched at her head with a gasp. The sheer force of the emotions in the room, coupled with the agony Garak was in, was making her dizzy.

“Irena,” said Robertson softly, not taking their eyes off the exchange taking place at the door, “maybe you should-”

“What, go stand in the corner?” she said, though her voice sounded strained, “not likely.”

“Not to be the spanner in the works here,” Bond was saying, “but shouldn’t you have thought of all this maybe _before_ you shot an innocent civilian who had nothing to do with the situation?”

Garak gave a cough that Robertson realised had been a laugh.

“Innocent civilian,” he whispered, and Irena gave him a watery-eyed smile.

More footsteps approached. Lighter. Faster.

“What seems to be the-” Doctor Bashir’s voice cut off as he took in the scene. Looking at his expression change from curious to stricken, Robertson could figure out exactly what was going through his mind.

 _Garak_.

Behind him was Savannah, peering through the crowd at them. She made eye contact, her eyes wide.

 _Are you okay?_ She mouthed.

Robertson nodded, unsure of how else to respond.

“We need to get some of these people out of there,” said Kira, “With the condition Garak’s in, you might have a death on your hands here that you’ll need to answer for.”

“Veldorians have died for lesser infractions than withholding Spousal Properties,” sneered Prasm, “especially one as rare as Avie-Nesa. I will face no consequences for any of this.”

“There are _children,_ ” said Kira, unable to stop herself from stepping forwards, but she froze at the high-pitched whirr of five weapons arming.

“Nobody - _nothing_ goes in or out of here. You may not know this, but from the outside you Federation types are famous for your cunning, lying, manipulative sneak attacks. I won’t have you smuggling anything in here.”

“I’m not going to be smuggling anything, but you have to let me in there,” said Julian. He kept his voice soft. Unthreatening.

“And who exactly are you?” said Prasm.

“I’m the Chief Medical Officer, and you’ve got an injured civilian in there. I need to treat him.”

“I know he’s injured, little man, I’m the one who did the injuring. I can do more too, if you come any closer.”

“You have to let me in-”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, Chief Medical Officer-”

“Let me at least give them the medkit-”

“Not likely, who knows what sorts of traps it’s stuffed full of?”

“You can check the-”

“Oh yes, Mister medical man, that’s how all of your Federation ploys start, hmm?”

“Oh for god’s sake!” Julian shouted, his frustration boiling over, “there’s a person who’s hurt and I have to help him! Surely that makes sense to you, no matter what planet you're from!”

Prasm didn’t reply, except to hold his weapon a little more tightly. Julian took a deep breath, and exhaled.

“What do I need to do?” he said, lowering his voice bowing his head a little, “tell me - what do I have to do for you to let me help them? It’s in your hands - you have the power.”

Prasm seemed pleased by this. He considered it for a moment.

“Talk them through it. Tell them what to do.”

Julian stared.

“Will you at least let me give them the medkit?” he said incredulously

“You heard what I said,” said Prasm, “you’re the Chief Medical whatever - surely you can think your way around the situation.”

He walked over to where Garak lay, and aimed the phaser at him.

“Talk, Medical Officer.”

Julian drew a shaky breath, and edged into the doorway. Irena and Robertson were there with Garak - Irena looked pale and ill, like she was going to pass out at any second. Julian shifted his attention to Robertson.

 _Are you okay?_ He signed, inviting them to reply in kind. 

“Hey!” shouted Prasm, “what signals are you giving here? Speak out loud.”

A flare of anxiety sparked in Robertson’s chest, and they forced it down.

“It’s okay Julian. you can speak out loud.”

Their voice was flat. Monotonous. Devoid of emotion. Even their eyes seemed dull, and it spooked Julian a little.

“Describe the situation to me. What’s his injury look like? The colour and the texture.”

“It’s a burn. There’s a patch in the middle that’s all shrivelled and black, around the size of a bottle cap. There’s little white bits around it - and the rest is brown. It’s about the size of… my two hands. Spread out. The scales around it are kind of charred… and the skin is brown. Swollen. It looks kind of shiny.”

_Shit. It was bad._

“Thank you Rob, you’re doing well. You’re doing really well. How is Garak?”

“Garak’s tired and sore, Doctor,” came Garak’s voice. The sarcasm in his tone was offset by the fact that he didn’t seem to be able to get enough air in to speak.

“Yes well, do us all a favour and shut it, why don’t you?” said Julian, layering as much love and fondness as he could muster into his words, “I’m talking to the professional here.”

“Hmm,” grunted Garak, waving his hand vaguely in Julian’s direction.

“Rob, you still with me?” 

“Yes, Doctor Bashir,” came the automatic reply. Julian felt his heart clench with sorrow - every fiber of his being screamed to just reach out, to run in there, reassure them. Instead, he spoke again.

“Wonderful, that’s just wonderful. Now, I wonder if you could describe Garak’s condition to me? His temperature, his breathing, and how his skin feels.”

They put the back of their hand to his forehead, then realised they had no frame of reference for how the Cardassian ought to feel.

“His skin is clammy. His breathing is shallow. His skin is cold… but I don’t know if that’s unusual.”

Irena placed her hand gently against Garak’s cheek.

“Definitely cooler than usual,” she called.

“Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do,” said Julian, “you’re going to keep him warm. I can see you’ve already gone some way to that, which is good. But you have to insulate him from the floor - that’s going to leech a lot of his body heat. Elevate his legs. Keep anything from touching the wound until I can figure out a way to help you to dress it. Give him water - small sips. Can you do all of that?”

“Insulate. Elevate. Avoid touching the wound. Small sips of water,” repeated Robertson. They got up, and began to rummage around in the storage cupboards.

“Is Mister Garak going to be okay?” came the tearful voice of Panyi. He’d been unable to help himself.

“Yes,” said Julian, trying desperately to keep his tone light, “yes, Mister Garak is going to be okay. He’s hurt, but he’s going to get better.”

“Okay, you’re done now. Out of the way,” said Prasm. He turned his attention on Odo.

“You and your friends here better run along and get in touch with Veldor, if you want him to survive for long enough to treat him. They’ll tell you I’m entirely within my rights here.”

Odo glared at him, but then addressed Bond.

“You and the rest of the team hold things down here. Backup will be with you in a moment. Kira, Doctor Bashir - you’re with me. Let’s go and see what these Veldorians have to say about this.”

“I’ll be with you in a moment Constable,” said Bashir, “I just have something to pick up from the infirmary.”

Savannah watched with some concern as he hurried off. After a moment’s deliberation, she took off after him.

*

Julian reached the infirmary, which was blessedly empty right now. Making sure the door was completely behind him, he took a deep breath, placing both palms on a biobed and bowing his head. 

_Garak was hurt._

And he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. All the information he’d given to Robertson might go a little way to giving him some comfort, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about the injury. His hands balled into fists, and his eyes screwed shut. He’d been far enough away that he’d been barely able to make out what the injury looked like. Every time he tried to summon the image of Garak, all he could see was that smug, self-assured face of Prasm. His body trembled with the tension of his suppressed rage. Just as Savannah reached the door of the infirmary, he found that he couldn’t hold it anymore - he threw his head back and screamed.

Julian was facing away from her, but the sound of his terrible cry shook Savannah to her core. She stood rooted to the spot in the doorway, terrified. His shoulders shook with a momentary sob, but then he seemed to collect himself. He looked upwards, taking a breath, and then straightened out his uniform and turned around-

“S-Savannah,” he stammered, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Oh, Julian-” she said, rushing forwards and wrapping her arms around his middle. She felt the air leave him, and he leaned his chin on the top of her head for a moment. His chest expanded and then deflated slowly as he took a deep, measured breath.

“Okay?” said Savannah, drawing back.

“Yeah,” said Julian, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “let’s go, they’re waiting for us in Ops.”

*

“You mean to tell me the Federation are currently withholding spousal property? Why?” The Veldorian ambassador didn’t seem angry, just genuinely confused. This was not the way Sisko thought this conversation was going to go.

“Well, I mean - from what I can tell the, uh, _spouse_ in question isn’t particularly keen on the arrangement,” he said.

Ambassador Sest barked out a surprised laugh, “well, can you imagine if a situation like this arose every time a Spousal Property was pursued? We’d all be singular then, wouldn’t we?”

Sisko stared, and resisted the very real urge to rub his temples.

“So what you’re telling me,” he said, “is that this, this Prasm - he’s not… overreacting?”

Sest looked thoughtful.

“How many enforcers did he bring with him?” he said.

“H-How… er, Constable, how many _enforcers_ were there?” said Sisko, addressing Odo.

“Four, sir,” said Odo.

“Oh! No, that’s perfectly reasonable. Hardly a personal army,” said Ambassador Sest. He clapped his hands together and put them down in his lap.

“So are we at an understanding here? Just hand over the Property, and you can all be on your merry way - no harm done.”

Sisko shook his head, “no, we can’t - we can’t just let him go at this point. He’s just held a roomful of innocent people, children even, at gunpoint. The Federation isn’t going to just let that slide as a misunderstanding. And he’s shot someone.”

“Was the someone getting in his way?” said Sest

“Well, he stepped in to handle a perceived threat-”

“There you go then!” Sest’s confusion was beginning to grow into frustration, “Commander, I don’t know that I follow your stubbornness in this situation. It’s perfectly simple - Prasm has his sights set on an unbonded Spousal Property, and he is well within his rights to pursue it as he sees fit. From what I hear, she’s quite a rare model.”

“Thank you, Ambassador. We’ll be in touch,” said Sisko, and ended the communication.

“Expertly handled, Commander” sighed Odo.

“Shut up.”

*

Unsurprisingly, there was very little available in the Federation archives that spoke about the Veldorians explicitly. The majority of the information they could find was embedded in specific references, throughout compilations and more general logs of interplanetary travel. It was, therefore, slow going.

“I don’t get it,” said Julian, “why is he so adamant that he wants this one woman? It just all seems a little… I don’t know… excessive to me.”

He added yet another footnote to his collection of information that might prove useful. Behind him, Ahna let out a little sigh.

“That’s because it’s not about the woman,” she said softly, “it’s about the power. That’s what it comes down to - having power over her. Hence the guns, the uniform, the whole… everything.”

Julian nodded as he listened. It made sense, given what he’d seen. 

“What makes it worse is the fact that - if it comes down to it? I won’t be able to allow the Commander to give her up. Even if it violates the Federation’s precious protocols,” said Kira, more to herself than anyone else.

“I’m with you on that,” said Ahna. The two Bajorans turned to look at Julian, who put his hands in the air.

“You won’t get any arguments here - I certainly won’t be handing her over to that… whatever his name is.”

“Right on,” agreed Savannah. She was sat cross-legged on the floor of the office, scrolling through the document of information they were compiling, searching for something that might come in handy. So far, all it was doing was turning her brain into mush. Very, very stressed mush. Every minute that went by sent the anxiety churning in her chest up another little notch. Her friends were in danger, and she was here on the floor of an office scrolling through useless alien facts. The thought distracted her from her work, which made the words on the PADD blur, which brought her guiltily back to the present, which started the whole horrible cycle over again. She took a shaky breath and tried not to cry.

“Hey,” said Julian, getting out of his seat and coming to sit on the floor next to her.

“No, dont-” she began, but her voice refused to co-operate. Julian put an arm around her shoulders.

“We have to be working,” she whispered, “we should be working on this, we don’t have _time_ -”

“It’s okay Savannah, this doesn’t all hang on you - we’re working on it together,” said Julian, giving her a little squeeze.

“Guys, I think I’ve found something,” said Ahna, her voice snapping them back to the present, “have you seen any references to something called ‘the Binding’?”

“Wait, yes!” said Savannah. She scrolled quickly on her PADD, blinking away the tears. 

“They talk about it in one of these old 23rd century explorers logs, as a kind of ritual. It sounds complicated. Well, I don’t know that, but the way it’s worded makes it sound - hold on, I’ll read it out. _Several of the locals mentioned that The Binding was to occur later that day for the new Spousal Property. I was not permitted to intrude on the ritual itself, but I did observe the careful setup of the chosen venue on several occasions. There seemed to be no specific guidelines for a Binding ritual, save for the physical process. So long as the place and the atmosphere was festive, and the evening of the occurrence solemn, the Binding would be adequately prepared for. Whatever the process, people seem to deem it very private, and seem flustered when pressed for details._ ”

“Sort of sounds like a wedding, I guess? In a messed up kind of way,” said Kira. She didn’t look impressed.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” said Ahna, “so see if you guys can find any more information on it. I’ve got an idea.”

 _Doctor Bashir to Ops_ came Bond’s voice over the comm.

Julian jumped up, giving Savannah a little kiss on the top of her head.

“I’ll see you guys - hopefully whatever Ahna’s onto works out!”

With that, he was gone. And Savannah suddenly found that she could concentrate a whole lot better. She had a ritual to research.

*

As it turned out Bond had another plan - unfortunately, a slightly more dangerous one.

“You can’t just gas a room full of people we don’t have adequate medical information on!” exclaimed Julian, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Okay, but - hear me out - anaesthesia gas hasn’t been found to have detrimental effects on a single known species at all,” she said. 

“Bond,” said Julian, rubbing at his face, “the amount of anaesthesia we would need to put all five of those guys under will kill that Bajoran child. Several times over, in fact,” 

“Oh,” said Bond, deflating a little.

“What we need,” said Julian, “is a way to just take out the Veldorians. Just… you know - zap them. All at once.”

Bond nodded thoughtfully.

“What we need is something like… a secret phaser. That shoots several people at once” she said. Julian stared at her.

“That… sounds insane,” he said slowly.

“All the best ideas do, Doctor Bashir,” said Bond with a smile that, to be honest, scared Julian a little.

*

Prasm had handcuffs hanging off his belt that he kept toying impatiently with. The jingling noise was wearing on Susan’s already frayed nerves, as the adults in the room tried to keep the kids calm, quiet, and as distracted as they could get them. They were all huddled together down the back of the room, while Robertson read to everyone from The Wind in the Willows. 

Garak was now lying on some folded-over drop sheets and several sheets of butchers paper, covered in a pile of everyone’s outer layers. He was unconscious - although they didn’t know whether he had passed out from the pain of being moved or simply from fatigue. His head was in Irena’s lap, and Irena herself was seated against the wall, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. She was pale, and looked like she might be sick. Ari, desperate for something to do with their hands, had resumed sewing - it felt ridiculous, but they needed something, and plus it gave Jake, Nog and Gann something interesting to look at, since sleep wouldn’t come easily to any of them tonight.

Susan, however, had nothing. Her skin itched. In her mind she had launched herself at Prasm and his men and murdered them - several times already, in fact. She wanted to rip their heads off, wanted to scream and punch and kick and yell. She sat still as these thoughts tore their way through her mind, and focused on breathing.

 _“The sunshine struck hot on his fur,”_ read Robertson, though their voice was lacking its usual warmth, and was threaded with a rough edge of exhaustion, _“soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout.”_

They had been here for hours now, and outside it was reaching the station’s equivalent of early morning. Thankfully, Panyi had fallen asleep a little while ago - he was still being gently rocked by Oo’loo, for which they were all immensely grateful. His sleep was fitful though, and from time to time he would twitch and mumble something incoherent. 

Avie had been quiet, as usual - though from time to time a tear would escape and roll down her cheek, unchecked. She sat with them - Prasm didn’t seem to want to start a fight with her, not yet, at least. The cuffs he had brought were padded with a soft fabric, and Susan shuddered to think what that meant - he didn’t want damaged goods, it seemed. 

“I know this mole,” Avie said suddenly, and Robertson’s voice trailed off to a halt. They cleared their throat and swallowed, trying to get some moisture back into their mouth. Prasm hadn’t been kidding when he said nothing would go in or out of the room, and they’d been mostly saving the cold tea to keep Garak hydrated. Robertson looked questioningly at Avie, silently inviting her to continue.

“He lives under the earth. Cold - alone. He is happy with his house. And then he comes to meet the sun, and he sees that there is more than this. He realises he has been missing... many things.” 

She shot a look full of hatred towards where Prasm stood.

“I cannot go back.”

Robertson sighed.

“We don’t expect you to,” they said wearily.

*

The door to the office Ahna and Kira were using slid open, and Julian appeared - with M in tow. She looked slightly nervous (although that could have just been the fact that she was with Julian) and was holding an odd contraption in both hands. It was a long, flexible length of cable about the width of a thumb. On one end was attached five nozzle-shaped pieces, and on the other side was a small, handheld screen with several buttons. The whole thing looked like it had been cobbled together from bits of junk.

“What’s that?” said Savannah, eyeing the thing suspiciously.

“A secret phaser. Or at least, that’s what Bond’s calling it,” replied Julian.

“They want us to crawl into the roof of the schoolroom and drill a hole… and install this. Oh, and use it to shoot the Veldorians.”

“Oh awesome, definitely something the two of us are qualified to do then,” said Savannah.

“Look!” said Julian, “the crawlspace up there is _very_ small. And you don’t need to aim it like you’re firing a gun… think of it more as a game. You see, we’ve got this button here, which-”

M smacked Julian’s hand out from mid-air, then looked absolutely horrified at what she’d done.

“Sorry! Oh my god, I’m so sorry Doctor Bashir, I just - that button arms it. Don't touch that one. Basically we just have to lock the five barrels here onto the five biosignatures of the Veldorians, and then we just. Pow. Stunned.”

“Well, it sounds easy enough in theory,” said Savannah suspiciously, “what’s the catch?”

Julian hesitated.

“Uh… well… you’ve only got the one charge. So you have to get it right or else they might very well just kill everyone in the room, and we would have to take responsibility for it.”

“Cool, this is getting better by the minute - might be responsible for the death of all our friends. Sounds great,” said Savannah.

“I’m sorry,” said Julian.

“I know.”

As they left, Ahna turned to Kira. The words had started to blur together on the page, and she found herself increasingly reading the same line over and over until her eyes burned.

“I think I’ve got something,” she said. 

“Please tell me it’s good,” groaned Kira.

“Have a little more faith, hm?” said Ahna, pulling up the section she was reading, “this one’s not Federation - it’s the personal log of a private Captain who crash-landed on Veldor about fifty years back. _Tonight, the Spousal Property - Eimhol-Nesa, as we have been calling her - told me in no uncertain terms that she wanted me to… well, it was too vulgar, I cannot repeat it here. But in essence - go away. There was nothing I had done out of the ordinary; I had simply put in my usual demand for the dinner I had enjoyed every night since I had landed.”_

“God, he sounds like fun,” said Kira, rolling her eyes.

“ _As I discovered, now that she was ‘bound,’ she was beholden to nobody but her binder, and was no longer considered a Property.”_

“But wait,” said Kira, “you're saying that we could free this woman... but only if she gets married? We can’t exactly have a secret wedding in the schoolroom.”

Ahna raised an eyebrow, “and why not? Read this bit - it explains exactly what the Binding entails.”

Kira huffed out a tired breath, and began to skim the section Ahna had indicated. Her eyes widened.

“Ahna. Get Sisko, we have to hurry.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is - the final instalment! How are they gonna get out of this one, hmm??

Garak had woken, and then immediately taken a turn for the worse. His face and neck were damp with sweat, and he shivered uncontrollably with fever. His features had settled into a terrible, contorted grimace of pain. They had needed to get Irena, who had ended up in about a bad a way as he was, away from him. Susan had led her over to the other side of the room, and as a sign of how badly this was all affecting her, she had followed without question. The distance helped, and now two of them were huddled together next to one of the storage cupboards, tired enough that they kept nodding off. Ari, who had been relegated to Garak-watch, had taken over and was now fiddling around with a little toy mouse.

Jake and Nog had actually managed to fall asleep - it was kind of cute; they’d drifted off by propping each other up. Robertson had Panyi on their lap now, who was still fast asleep thank god. Oo’loo had drooped into more of a puddle, presumably also in some sort of a resting state. The room was mostly silent once more.

Silent, that was, save for the occasional sniffle from Avie. She had moments where she seemed fine, but then another bout of fear or melancholy would seize her, and she would cry once again. Robertson held out a hand to her, and she peered at it curiously.

“You hold it,” they croaked - their voice was wrecked, “if you want to. People do it for comfort.”

Avie looked taken aback.

“That is very… familiar of you?” she said. Then, she shrugged and laced her fingers through Robertson’s, who gave her a little squeeze. Avie shuffled a little closer, so that she was sitting right next to Robertson.

“If it looks like he will hurt another one of you,” she whispered, “I will go with him.”

“No,” replied Robertson, “you won't, because we won’t let you.”

Avie shook her head, “no, you do not understand. I am… I was underground. I owe you all for the sunshine.”

The words sounded like a jumble to Robertson’s fatigued brain, but something in the emotion of it tugged at their heart, threatening to let loose the tangle mess of feelings they had been fighting so hard to keep under control. They swallowed.

“Explain,” they said.

“Your group. You are all here - you tell each other things, write them down, or draw them. Where I am from, we keep these in our minds. No sharing. Here… you are all together. You have given me some of this feeling - being together,” Avie sighed, withdrawing her hand.

“I do not want to hurt you, after you have given me a gift.”

Robertson nodded, staring at the floor, unable to formulate a reply. Where Robertson was still successfully tamping down on their emotions though, Susan’s were becoming more and more restless. She found herself unable to sit still, but too tired, too flustered to get up and pace like she wanted to. Her hands clenched into fists, and then opened again, and then closed. She dug her nails into her palms.

Ari was watching her with concern. They tied off the last thread of the little mouse they were working on, and then flung the toy across the room, hitting Susan in the head. Her immediate reaction was extreme irritation, but then confusion as she picked up the little mouse. It had a long string tail, button eyes, and very large, felt ears. Ari mimed squeezing the mouse. Susan tried it, experimentally. It didn’t exactly fix anything, but it gave her hands something to do.

“Thanks,” she signed. It was a small comfort, but she’d take what she could get.

*

In hindsight, there really was nobody but M and Savannah who would have fit up here in the crawlspace. Even the two of them were in for some tight corners while they were up there. It was just handy that Savannah already had her aural implant, so Julian could talk directly to her while she worked.

“You guys are nearly there,” he said, “just turn left, and there ought to be a space for you both to fit into.”

“Got it,” said Savannah, turning into the aforementioned chamber. They appeared to be in some sort of ventilation space above the schoolroom, just big enough to give the two of them some wiggle room. They were kneeling on a grate that looked directly down into the room. From there, they could see everyone. There was Garak, lying on the floor with his head on what looked like Ari’s lap. Robertson was holding the young Bajoran boy. Irena and Susan were on the other side of the room - likely because Irena would be teetering on emotional overload at this point, the poor thing. Julian _and_ Telnorri were going to have their work cut out for them after all of this. 

Savannah took out a small laser cutter and a magnet, and carefully cut a circle into the grating below her, using the magnet to keep the cutoff part from falling into the room. With her tongue between her teeth, she carefully eased the business end of the contraption through the hole, and used some putty to stop it from moving around.

Neither of them dared to talk, and Savannah was worried that her heart was beating so loud and so fast the Veldorians below might hear her and give their position away. She took a deep breath, while M took over.

The first two biosigns were easy. The two guards near the door were taking their turn for a quick nap, and it was a simple matter of getting a visual on the screen, locking on, and scanning. The other two were pacing, checking the exhausted hostages for any signs of subterfuge. The first one took M three tries - it was hard to manually follow a moving target _and_ keep them isolated enough to avoid the scanner picking up anyone else’s signatures. 

It was hot and stuffy up in the crawl space; the two of them were beginning to sweat. A kind of countdown had formed in their minds - every miss brought them closer to an indefinable moment where they were found out, and their friends… it didn’t bear thinking about. 

M wiped her hands on her uniform and blew out a quiet breath. Her hands were shaking.

“Want me to take over?” said Savannah, barely forming the words through her whisper. M nodded. 

The last guard had paused by Robertson and was saying something to them - something that was making them hold the child in their arms a little closer. They were leaning away from him, but all that seemed to be doing was egging him on, as he loomed over her.

“Come on, move it asshole,” muttered Savannah under her breath.

The guard finally moved on, and Savannah started the scan. 

20 percent.

The guard paused, now setting his sights on Irena and Susan.

40 percent.

He turned around and said something to one of the other guards, and the two of them laughed. Susan drew a little nearer to Irena. Bastard.

70 percent.

He was walking over to them. Oh god, no - not too close! He walked slowly, trailing one hand over the backs of the chairs he passed. Stop. Stop!

90 percent. Nearly there.

He stopped, his head whipping around. Yes, that’s good, stop.

95 percent.

He was drawing his weapon.

“Oh, _shit_ ” breathed Savannah

100 percent. Locked. Now they just had Prasm to go.

The guards were all up now. On alert.

Someone was yelling.

Robertson had gotten up, passed the Bajoran child off to someone else. Everyone was moving now, crowding around.

Someone else was yelling. Kira? What was she doing inside? 

Phasers were pointed, a shrill whine filling the air as they were armed once more.

They still had to-

“Savannah,” said M, her voice high-pitched and panicky, “Savannah, they’re going to-”

Savannah made the call. 

She fired.

*

The hostages had been locked in the Schoolroom for twelve hours now, and people on the station were starting to gossip. Odo had had to set up a perimeter around the area to stop people from trying to look in. Sisko was currently off dealing with Panyi’s panicked uncle, and Bond was prowling the entrance to the Schoolroom like a wild cat, itching to get her hands on the Veldorians. The significant rise in noise had everyone on edge, even more so than the silence of the previous night. Nobody could concentrate, nobody could think, nobody could-

Kira and Ahna vaulted the barricade Odo had set up, skidding to a halt in front of him.

“Odo!” panted Kira, “we have to talk to someone in there. Anyone? Who’s in the best shape to take instructions right now?”

“None of them,” muttered Odo, but he peered into the room anyway, making an assessment.

“I think your best bet is going to be either the Professor or the wildlife expert right now, unfortunately.”

Kira gave a low whistle, “that bad, huh.”

She took a moment to prepare a cover story, walked up to the entrance, and rapped on the door.

“I hope this means you’ve come back to let us out,” snarled Prasm. He drew himself up to his full height and stepped as close to Kira as he dared. Kira stayed still, refusing to rise to the bait of a confrontation.

“Our Commander is still currently in negotiations there. I’ve just come to speak to the child - his uncle is very worried about him, and I’ve promised to check on how he is.”

Robertson looked up at that, and patted Panyi gently on the back to wake him.

“Negotiations? Not even the Federation rodents who showed up to invite us to join their tea party took twelve hours to settle that score. No, you’re all up to something.”

He levelled his phaser at Robertson, freezing them in place.

“Stay where you are!”

“Look,” said Kira, “I’m not going to hand them anything, take anything, give anything, set up any booby traps - I just need to talk to the child! Can’t they bring him over?”

Prasm considered it for a moment. But there was something about the defiance in Kira’s stare that hardened his resolve.

“No. Whatever you have to say, you can just speak up. They’ll hear you.”

Kira hesitated. This was dangerous - they had to rely on Robertson to get it. And fast. Everyone in that room was running on fumes at this point, and there was no knowing how long it might take them to process.

On the other hand, what other options did they have?

“Robertson!” she called. 

“Major Kira,” came the croaky reply. 

“Robertson, you have to kiss Avie. You have to just lean over and kiss her. On the lips.”

The professor blinked in surprise.

“What is ‘kiss’?” said Prasm, “what are you doing? Liar! Enforcers!”

Their weapons charged, and Robertson looked at Avie in wild alarm as five phasers were suddenly pointed in their direction. Kiss her?

“Kiss her and it’ll all be over, you have to just! Just do it!” screamed Kira

“What does she mean?” said Avie, pressing herself back in her seat, her eyes terrified.

“Panyi, behind me. Get behind the chair,” ordered Roberton, then turned her attention to Avie.

“Don’t do this! Whatever ‘kiss’ is, I’m telling you if you do it I will open fire and this time it will _not_ be a minor injury,” roared Prasm, advancing on them, “enforcers!”

“I’m going to put my mouth on your mouth,” Robertson, “and apparently that will save us.”

Avie’s jaw dropped.

“You would do that for me?” she gasped.

“Get them!”

A finger tightened on a trigger.

Everyone screamed as several phaser blasts shot out of the roof of the room, stunning each of the guards. They fell where they stood, crumpling to the floor.

Robertson took the moment of distraction to lean forward and press their lips against Avie’s. It was a strange, mechanical action. The two of them awkwardly held their faces together, and then broke apart. Robertson fought the urge to wipe their mouth.

Avie’s eyes were shining with gratitude.

“My bonded,” she said, and embraced Robertson tightly. Robertson didn’t reply, too confused by the whole situation to form a coherent answer. Their hands flapped uselessly at their sides.

Behind them, Prasm looked on in horror.

“You!” he shook his phaser in their direction, wild with rage. Robertson turned around, placing themself in front of Avie.

“Do you know how long I have been pursuing this… this- your-” spluttered Prasm. Behind him, two more weapons powered up.

“We’ll be glad to relieve you of your obsession then,” said Bond. She and Kira had their own phasers pointed directly at Prasm.

“Your Ambassador Sest has confirmed - any further actions taken against Avie’s _bonded_ can and will be held against you now that they are… together.”

“Together?” said Robertson faintly.

Behind them, Odo and the rest of the security team were dragging Prasm and his enforcers from the room. Avie watched them go in amazement, the unguarded emotion on her face utterly transforming her features. She looked younger somehow, her eyes illuminated with hope like starlight.

 _Infirmary to Schoolroom - are we all clear?_ Julian’s voice sounded strained and worried.

“Yes, the scramblers have been removed. Two to beam directly to the infirmary,” answered Kira. Bond had gone over to Irena to give her a quick check over, and nodded. Irena and Garak dissolved, leaving everybody else behind.

Now that the thick atmosphere of fear had dissipated, the room felt strangely empty - even in spite of the people who were still inside. Everyone hovered awkwardly where they stood, unsure of what to do next. In the next few days, they would need to rest, and to heal, and to talk about what had happened. But the gulf between that future and the immediate now, the empty classroom and the remnants of twelve hours of terror, seemed insurmountably wide.

“I’m tired,” said Susan. Her voice was soft. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, and she shivered - she’d given her hoodie to Garak.

“Yeah,” agreed Ari. They made no move to leave.

Robertson said nothing, staring at the floor.

“Panyi!” shouted a voice from the doorway - a Bajoran man, presumably his uncle, was there with Sisko. Panyi ran to him and was swept up in his arms, immediately burying his head in his uncle’s shoulder and sobbing. Sisko and Rom were with them, and raced over to Jake and Nog, holding them tightly.

“We’ve set up a room,” said Sisko, over the top of Jake’s head, “for all of you, everybody. None of you ought to be alone right now, especially while you get some rest. The nurses will come and check how you’re going so you don’t have to go to the infirmary.”

“Can I go too?” asked Jake from where his head was resting on his father’s shoulder. He spoke lightly, but his hand did not let go from where it was bunched in Sisko’s uniform.

“ _You_ don’t have a choice,” said Sisko, patting his shoulder, “the ‘room’ is our quarters.”

*

“I’m really not that badly hurt,” said Irena to the nurse who was administering an additional hypospray for her nausea and headache. The past hour or so was a blur - she had arrived in a state of total disorientation; groggy, confused, sick to her stomach. She vaguely remembered calling out for Garak, remembered meeting Doctor Bashir’s eyes for a split second - in the memory her brain recalled, he looked like he had been crying. It could have been a figment of her imagination, one her overtired brain had conjured.

She was currently seated on a biobed, waiting for the Doctor to finish on Garak. Luckily it was more the shock than the injury that had been causing his condition, and the nurses assured her that he would be making a swift recovery.

“I don’t think I’m that much worse off than the others anyway, and I’d hate to take up unnecessary space,” said Irena, making as if to get off the bed. Nurse Tagana gently restrained her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Doctor Bashir thought it would be best if you stayed here for a while, away from any crowded areas. Plus, he mentioned that it might be good if you were here for when Mr. Garak comes out of his procedure.”

As if on cue, Garak materialised on the biobed across from Irena. Julian walked in after him, pulling the (excruciatingly ugly, Irena’s brain supplied) scrub cap off his head and ruffling his hair back out.

Garak was pale, still unconscious by the looks of things. The nurses dutifully found something else to occupy themselves with while Julian trailed his fingers over Garak’s cheek and sighed.

“How is he?” said Irena.

“He’ll need lots of rest, but I imagine he’ll be right as rain soon enough.” 

Julian’s voice was quiet, his head bowed over Garak’s sleeping form. He seemed reluctant to move anywhere, his hands keeping a point of contact with Garak at all times. His cheek, his shoulder, his chest.

“Make sure Garak _actually_ gets lots of rest,” said Irena, trying to bring some levity back into the room, “got it.”

“Irena,” said Julian, turning to her, “don’t - you don’t have to take these things on yourself. You’ll have enough to do getting yourself back up to snuff in the next few days.”

Irena slid off her biobed and went over to his side.

“I can’t help it,” she said, “I worry.”

“That makes two of us, I guess,” he sighed.

Garak shifted in his sleep, and made a small sound of distress. Julian and Irena reached out as one to soothe him.

“S-sorry,” said Irena, “I guess I should-”

“No, Irena,” said Julian, “I was actually hoping that you might… stay here. With him.”

Irena stared.

“I’ve got lots more people to check on right now before I come back” continued Julian, “and, well, I think you would be good company for each other. Considering… all this.”

“That’s very… you don’t mind?” said Irena.

“Mind that Garak has a best friend who cares about him? Why would I mind about that?” replied Julian, genuine confusion crossing his features, “anyway, I’d better go.”

Irena nodded, but Julian lingered a moment longer.

“Can I give you a hug?” he said, a little shyly.

“...yes?”

Julian hugged her. Despite his slender, bony limbs, he felt warm and sturdy, and the feeling helped Irena feel a little more anchored to reality.

As Julian left, Irena returned her attention to Garak, who mumbled a few nonsense syllables in his sleep and rolled onto his side.

“Well, scoot over you old lizard,” she said, climbing onto the biobed with him, “I’m tired too, you know.”

She was sure Garak was still asleep, but his hand did come to rest on her waist.

*

Benjamin Sisko wasn’t one to regret acts of kindness in his life, but he was coming very close to regretting his decision to let the small crowd of tired, slightly hysterical people into his quarters for the night. Loopy from lack of sleep, and yet still wired from the prolonged stress of the day, everyone seemed to see-saw between wild extremes of uproarious laughter, and sudden bouts of weeping. 

Jake, delighted to have so many people over, had immediately sent a comm around, giving orders to turn their place into a gigantic blanket fort. Right now, a giant sheet had been strung up between walls in their lounge area as a kind of makeshift roof, and as everyone arrived, they were bearing blankets and pillows, and various snacks and little treats they had been saving for a rainy day. Ari had brought little Delta along, who was having a great time discovering just how many little nooks and crevices they had created with the blankets. Oo’loo had brought along a jug of strange pink liquid that nobody had been game enough to touch - until Susan had dipped a cautious finger in and discovered that it was strawberry milk. Apparently, she loved it and had sent several cartons back to her homeworld already.

Currently, Savannah was showing Jake and Nog how to make blueberry pancakes at his stove. Gann was hovering nearby, a little hesitant to participate in the cooking but extremely keen to take part in the eating.

“It’s pretty easy actually, once you get the flip right,” she was saying. Jake flipped the pancake expertly, looking over to Sisko and grinning.

“I know I’ve got that part right,” he said, and then his smile faded.

“Dad taught me-” his voice trailed off as he covered his face with his hands. Savannah hugged him tightly.

“Hey, you’re back with him now - it’s okay,” she said. Sisko came over and put a hand on his son’s back.

“What your old man hasn’t taught you to master yet though, is the double-flip. Here, check this out-”

“- and then it was like, qaStaH nuq jay’? Those are my shorts Worf, get your own, you know?” said Bond. She and M were lying on their backs on the floor, too wiped to get up for food.

“Is Worf even the same size as you?” said M in confusion, trying to picture the situation.

“He definitely fuckin’ isn’t. Let me tell you, it was not a pretty picture.”

Ahna made her way over to Susan, who was currently sitting on her own, picking at her nails.

“You eaten yet?” she said, sitting down next to her. Susan shook her head.

“Want me to grab you something?”

Susan looked angrily at her, and several tears slipped down her cheeks.

“No, I don’t! Are we just gonna pretend this is okay? Like everything’s just going to go back to normal right now? I don’t think we can just-” she bent over, burying her face in her arms and sobbing. Just at that moment, the door slid open and Julian arrived. Seeing Susan, he went immediately over to her and sat on her other side. Ahna was gently rubbing circles on her back, and Julian lay his warm palm on her shoulder.

“Go away,” came Susan’s muffled voice.

“Oh no, I can’t,” said Julian, “it’s my duty as a doctor to make sure everybody’s had a good cry after all that. Have you all?”

A room filled with red-rimmed eyes, balled-up tissues and fragile smiles responded with various levels of confirmation and enthusiasm.

“That’s the way. Come here Susan, it’s your turn,” he said, pulling her close. Susan flopped bonelessly into his side and stayed there, pressing her cheek into his shoulder.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” she said, “but I appreciate it.”

Julian rubbed Susan’s arm in response, checking around the room. Most everyone seemed - well, if not alright, then significantly more relaxed. Nobody was sitting alone either, that was good. Over the other side of the room sat Robertson and Avie, side by side. Robertson looked worn out, hunched over on the couch with their elbows on their knees. Next to them, as it turned out, when Avie was not in significant mortal peril, she was actually an extremely animated and enthusiastic talker.

“And I have to thank you for it, really!” said Avie, nudging Robertson with her shoulder. Robertson managed a weak smile in return, but couldn’t even muster the energy to turn their head.

“Also the rest of the people in your groups - the drawings, the writings… I have been doing so many inside my head but I was not allowed, you know? I was not a whole, a complete person. But now I can do lots of these things, I can write down all the things inside my head, I can - oh! You will read some for me? I love when you speak - sorry, I know we are only bonded because you were helping, but I love when you tell everyone how to fix their, eh, their writing!”

“Yes, that does sound like it will be good,” said Robertson, their voice thready and only barely able to muster up some semblance of interest. Julian made a mental note to use the regenerator on their vocal chords once Susan had settled a bit; they sounded rough.

“Are you feeling okay? You look a little white,” said Avie, leaning in closer. She reached a hand out to Robertson, who flinched, but she didn’t seem to recognise the reaction. Julian did, however, and carefully eased Susan up off his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ve just got another patient to get to,”

“Before, you did this - with our hands. When someone feels bad, you do this?” Avie reached out, but when her fingers brushed the back of Robertson’s hand, they recoiled as if they’d been burned.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Robertson opened their mouth to reply, but all that came out was a whimper. They clapped their hand over their face, and glanced over to where Jake, Nog and Gann were. Suddenly, it fell into place for Julian - they couldn’t fall apart, not here. Not in front of their students.

“Wait, come back!” called Avie, as Robertson walked quickly out the door, their hands balled into tight fists. Julian held up a hand to stop Avie, and then went after them.

They had collapsed in the corridor just outside, curled up against the wall, their hands tugging hard at their hair. Their entire frame shook from tension.

“Robertson,” said Bashir softly. No response.

“Rob,” he said again. A gasp this time - unclear as to whether this counted as a response.

“Robertson, if I’m getting through to you, I’m going to give you a set of instructions. Listen carefully to my voice. If you can understand what I’m saying, take a deep breath.”

A small sob escaped Robertson, but then they exhaled sharply, and drew in a deep breath.

“Good, that’s the way. Give me another one, draw it out a bit longer this time.”

Robertson obediently exhaled the breath they had been holding through their mouth, and then took another one in through their nose.

“Excellent, you’re doing fine. I want you to feel all the bumps in the floor now, can you feel them?” 

Robertson had to untangle their hands from their hair to do this, and they transferred their stiff-fingered group to the metal floor outside Sisko’s quarters. They were outside Sisko’s quarters. The metal part of the floor was cold. There were bumps in it. Julian was here. Everybody else was inside. They couldn’t go back in, there were too many of them, they would know. They would see-

“I would like to touch you on the back, Rob. Nod if it’s okay for me to do that.”

Robertson considered what this might feel like for a moment, and decided it was okay. They nodded. Julian moved a little closer and put his hand on their back.

“Does that feel better, or worse? Nod for better, shake for worse.”

Robertson nodded. Everything was starting to come back now, the odd, fuzzy limbo they had floated in was starting to dissolve, and they could feel the churning anxiety rearing its head up from the depths of their chest. A giggle escaped them, a product of their overwrought mind suddenly supplying that Julian had absolutely no idea what was coming.

“There, isn’t that better?” said Julian, confirming their suspicion. The giggle turned into a gasp, which turned into a sob, and suddenly they were crying, shaking uncontrollably on the floor of the Habitat Ring. It wasn’t anything dramatic, no wailing or whimpering - barely any sound at all. It was the quiet, exhausted weeping that had built up overnight, and Julian found that he had no cure for the situation at all this time except to sit with them, and let them cry.

*

The next week happened in fragments. Snatched pieces of memories that fractured away from the haze of recovery. The things that remained were the parts that would leave scars, or perhaps would go some way to healing them.

One of these fragments sees the warm, orange glow of Kira’s quarters, as she is joined by Ahna and Irena. The place is serene, quiet, as if the ambient creaking and whirrs of Deep Space Nine have stopped for a moment to give them some true peace. Meditation helps to clear the mind, and the presence of friends helps to clear the heart.

In another fragment, Ari jumps at every noise that comes their way - many, too many for someone who works with animals. They can’t seem to sit still, but neither can Gann or Panyi, or even Oo’loo, who come to visit with new drawings of Delta and Gamma whenever they can.

The fragment that Susan inhabits is significantly more tumultuous - it is electric, in that it fizzles constantly, unpredictably, shocking her with sparks of pain that seem to come out of nowhere and everywhere. She feels them as she throws herself into work that doesn’t seem to make sense anymore. In programs that are suddenly alien, in lines of code that she no longer has the key to, in spare parts and in missing pieces that seem to be missing from herself as much as they are from whatever contraption she’s working on right now. The fragment splits yet again, and Doctor Julian Bashir is calling for her - weird, unusual, Savannah usually takes those calls, but she answers anyway - what can she do? And his request is simply that she lies down on this extremely comfortable bed over here, and rests.

Robertson comes very close to drowning in theirs. In between the darkness of night and the big, empty room they live in, they don’t get much sleep. The haze is one born of exhaustion and weary smiles, and the fragment splinters when one night Garak the tailor comes to their door, interrupting nothing, because they couldn’t sleep anyway. 

“Professor,” he says. He has brought an offering, some kind of soothing tea.

Robertson, blinking hard to get a hold of what reality is presenting right now.

“I have some rather pressing embroidery to do,” he says “and it will likely take me most of the night.”

Robertson has no feel for what is real and what is proper anymore. They step aside and let him in, and he settles himself down on a chair.

“You’ve been very kind to me with your advice in the past,” says Garak. He begins to sew, and says nothing more. He doesn’t need to - the two of them have never needed many words to begin with. 

Robertson gets ready for bed. They turn out the lights. They sleep.

*

Julian had just made the worst spaghetti bolognese in existence. Not only that, he had made enough for at least twenty people. Commander Sisko was going to eat it, and he is going to _judge._

He had no idea when the communal Deep Space Nine love language became food. He’s never been one to do much cooking in the first place, but when he’d gotten the idea to burn his mince - just a little, for the extra flavour, he’d felt like a genius. Jadzia, however, reassured him that it tasted absolutely awful.

At somebody’s request (a somebody that Julian increasingly suspected had a name that began with “Jake” and ended with “Sisko”) the Commander had agreed to continue to invite the hostage crew - as they had begun to jokingly call themselves - over once a week. So long as they cleaned up after themselves. 

It was an extraordinarily lovely affair - sometimes they would bring along an extra friendly face (“sir, Giuditta is my emotional support hologram!”), but always there would be a revolving spread of interesting food from all over the quadrant, plus an unusual offering from Veldor… that, and a jug of strawberry milk.

Today, however, was a special occasion. Everybody was seated in the lounge area - on the couches, on the floor, on cushions, half draped across each other. Avie in particular, as it turned out, was great at lounging over long stretches of couch, and whoever else happened to be in the way too. Joining the ranks of people on the station who were seldom seen without a PADD in their hand, her adventure stories had quickly become an arts club favourite.

She had arrived with Robertson today, the two of them chatting amiably as they entered. Their bonding had been a bit of a point of awkwardness for a while, but now it was more of a joke than anything else - the fact that Robertson even managed to have a spouse at all would never not be funny. Robertson snagged some kind of round, green fried thing off her plate before they stood up and clapped their hands together for attention. The chatter in the room died down.

“I’m very glad you’re all here,” they said, genuine delight apparent on their face, “to finally witness one of the most important literary works of our time.”

“Hear hear!” shouted Jake, and the room broke into applause.

“Come on, sweetie,” whispered Robertson, and Panyi bounded to the front of the room.

“Hello everybody!” he said, reading off his Padd, “my name is Eldor Panyi, and this is my story, called ‘Garak the Flying Lizard.’ 

Garak the flying lizard was flying over the desert one day. He had big wings, and liked flying a lot. Normally when he flew, it was a lot of fun, and he liked to do tricks.

One day, suddenly, a big dragon came up to him.

“I’m a mean dragon, and you’re a very small lizard,” he said. He had a big frown on his face.

“I am small but I am fast!” said Garak. Because he was a flying lizard, he flew away.

The dragon chased him for a long time, but Garak did lots of tricks and even a loop the loop. He stuck out his tongue at the lizard.

“Go away, nasty dragon!” said Garak.

The dragon was out of breath from doing so much flying.

“Ha ha, you’re a bitch!” said Garak. The end!”

The room was silent for a second while everybody absorbed what Panyi had said. Then Susan let out a scream of laughter, and began to applaud. Garak swiped at his eyes and stood up to clap, with Julian, and then everybody else following suit. Panyi, a huge grin on his little face, took a bow. Little by little, the friends in the room had begun to piece the shards of their lives back together, gluing them firmly back in place with moments like these.

“Panyi,” said Robertson quietly, “who taught you that word?”

“I heard Mister Garak say it!” came the enthusiastic reply, “and you always tell us to try and write from real life.”


End file.
